


Thou Shalt Not Lie

by KattsEyeDemon, sappho_malfoy (Sapphy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crack Pairing, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Silly, The Crupp protection league tried to ban this, Why is Dumbles still allowed to teach?, cruel and unusual treatment of Hufflepuffs, disturbing mental images, gratuitous Ginny bashing, horrific food combinations, misuse of truth spells, unashamedly ridiculous, unfounded rumours unexpectedly save the day, we'll just go now, we're bad for each other's sanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KattsEyeDemon/pseuds/KattsEyeDemon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/sappho_malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a particularly nasty rumour involving Eloise Midgeon and a Crupp, Dumbles is forced to take drastic action.</p><p>Disclaimer: I owe the government and she owes the bank – does it sound like we’re JK Rowling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That went rather well don't you think?

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not this started with a conversation about a new angst piece Sapphy wanted to write and it just got out of hand.
> 
> Not beta'd unless you count windows spell-checker and ourselves, but given the content I'm not sure it matters...

No honest person could describe lunch-time in the great hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as peaceful or sedate. As a rule, first thing in the morning was reasonably quiet as students were either still asleep or desperately trying to catch up on homework due in that morning. Evenings were fairly calm. Most people were exhausted by hours of lessons and the prospect of reams of homework to come, and everyone was desperate to just get back to their common room and relax. But lunchtimes – lunchtimes were riotous to say the least. Everyone had woken up and hadn’t yet had a chance to get exhausted. There’d been time for new arguments to begin and everyone was feeling fit and well enough to continue arguments from the day before.

It would be nice to be able to say that the time when this story starts (12.45 on 19th April 2004) was the exception to prove the rule. It wasn’t. In fact it was the rowdiest, noisiest, angriest lunch hour Hogwarts had seen since the famous “Custard and Cassoulet” incident of 1879. Students had given up their usual pastime of simply arguing with those nearest to them and had united into factions, many dedicated to initiating hostilities with the Slytherins and their allies.

Yes for once the Slytherins had allies. You see this was a usual argument. Oh no. What had started this healthy debate, which was fast becoming full scale warfare, wasn’t something a simple and benign as that much maligned house’s supposed allegiance to the Dark Lord. It wasn’t about the Hufflepuff’s stupidity, the Gryffindor’s pig-headedness or the Ravenclaw’s complete lack of tact. This war was about that most tricky of things – rumour.

Someone (a good chunk of the Gryffindors, a handful of Hufflepuffs and decent sized faction of Ravenclaws were convinced that this someone was a Slytherin) had begun an inventive, cruel and highly original rumour involving Eloise Midgen’s acne and certain virulent diseases only contractible through sexual contact with a Krupp. A large number of the Slytherins also believed that one of their own house had begun the rumour, but they were determined to defend their undeserved and frankly non-existent good reputation and were sticking together like glue.

Those Ravenclaws not blaming the Slytherins mainly believed that the Gryffindors had begun the rumour, due to an earlier argument about the practical ways Ravenclaws went about obtaining their famous knowledge on unsavoury subjects such as, in that particular case, the dangers of incest. The Hufflepuffs mainly believed that the Ravenclaws had started it because Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw have never had an easy relationship (the dim pushover and the tactless intellectual rarely do). The Gryffindors believed that Slytherins started it because Gryffindors always blame Slytherins. It’s traditional. In fact it’s part of the charter that all newly sorted Gryffindors must sign before they’re considered truly ‘one of us’ by the older students. The Slytherins, as mentioned above, mainly believed that they had started it, but blamed it on the Hufflepuffs on the basis that it’s easy to make them cry.

This four way inter house war was in full swing on the day mentioned, with the air full of insults, accusation, bread rolls and other food based projectiles and increasingly nasty hexes. The teachers watched with varying degrees of amusement, anger and despair and tried not to get involved. But when a four foot high first year Hufflepuff with freckles and blond plaits attempted to cast the killing curse at a Ravenclaw prefect the staff could ignore it no longer.

All heads on the staff table turned as one to the Headmaster who, mysteriously not dead for reasons which will never be explained because the authors are lazy but which probably involve the power of love, nodded to his loyal staff (which incidentally included more than one other rightfully deceased person), and rose from his seat. He strode to the front of the Dias, his robes billowing impressively behind him and his hair and beard glowing unnaturally in the bright sunlight. This dramatic effect was completely lost on his student body however as they were too busy fighting among themselves to notice the impending doom heading their way.

Dumbledore cleared his throat once or twice but was ignored. He tried speaking. He tried yelling. In the end, angrier than any of his staff had ever seen him, he shot a firework from the tip of his wand. It headed straight up, hit the ceiling and exploded, knocking loose a large chunk of the crumbling stonework, which hit the Hufflepuff with the freckles and the braids squarely on the head, crushing her so thoroughly that only her shoes remained visible. No one noticed this however as everyone was, finally, focussed on their furious Headmaster.

Holding a wand to his throat for amplification, Dumbledore yelled one word, which would change the course of Wizarding history forever.

“VERITAS!”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch... (No really – after taking over Malfoy Mansion our villain had turned the garden into huge paddocks where the results of his latest hobby could roam free and renamed it The Vollieville Ranch!) Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Lord Voldemort TM (as he was now calling himself) was busy plotting the downfall of all that was good. And enjoying his new hobby.

He was wishing he could somehow thank his mother. When clearing out the space under his bed (some jobs even Dark Lords have to do themselves) he had found the copies of ‘101 Evil Things To Do On A Rainy Day’ and ‘101 Things a Little Dark Wizard Can Do’ his mother had given him before she died. Both had proved useful and informative (who knew cats-cradle and French skipping had so many evil uses?) but it was to the ‘Little Dark Wizards’ book that he owed the greatest debt of gratitude. It was in this inspirational tome (now on the official death eater reading list, along with the collected works of Grindlewald, popular sayings of Voldemort, Lord of all creation, Meine Kampf and Pride and Prejudice) that he had found his new hobby - Thing Number 55: breed your own hideous crossbreed monster familiar.

Currently he was experimenting with combining yellow budgerigars – well known as the most evil of all commonly domesticated birds – with crocodiles. So far he had failed to create a budgie capable of drowning a Zebra, but he did have one very full crocodile.

He wasn’t sure this was a combination that would work. He’d tried everything he could think off – mood music, candlelit dinners and spraying the crocodiles with Old Spice - but he just couldn’t get them to breed. He was thinking he might try howler monkeys and bats next. One of his Loyal Followers had shown him the most delightful film last week which had given him the idea. It was a shame he’d then had to force the man to eat his own testicles as punishment for bringing muggle technology into VoldieVille Ranch.

He’d yet to find the right combination of animals, but he was confident that he would, and then he’d have a truly terrifying familiar. Once upon a time Nagini had fulfilled that role but since developing a magical strain of bubonic plague (fortunately harmless to Snakes) called the Fushia Death she had lost her edge somewhat. It would take time but eventually he would replace his ailing and Barbie pink snake with something even more terrifying. And in the meantime he was having more fun than he’d had in years. And his Loyal Followers kept assuring him that was what really counted.

To further his new pursuits he’d turned the former Malfoy grand dining room into his evil laboratory. The walls were lined with banks of switches, huge wheels, pairs of metal balls with electricity jumping between them and a switch which gave anyone who touched it a near fatal shock. He had also dressed Wormtail in a lab coat and ordered him to talk with a lisp at all times. Just too really complete the look he’d inflicted serious damage to Wormtail’s back and left leg, forcing him to limp and walk bent almost double. Overall he was very pleased with the effect. This was, of course, all totally unnecessary as a) he had magic and therefore had no need to electricity and b) he had quickly given up on the stitching new creatures together out of the bits of dead ones and then enchanting or electrocuting them to life method. It was messy, time consuming, and bits tended to drop of his creations. He was sticking firmly to good old fashioned evil magically (and Old Spicely) aided husbandry.

He wondered whether using ancient and black sorcery to resurrect his mother as a zombie so he could thank her in person for finding him this marvellous new hobby would be considered ‘too much’. He hadn’t felt this happy in years. But then he was a Dark Lord after all. Who was going to object? A little light necromancy was practically de rigueur!

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The great hall was in panic. The students had no idea what spell Dumbledore had cast on them, other than it wasn’t a calming or silencing spell, but the fact that they wouldn’t find out until they shut up wasn’t stopping them from all screaming at the tops of their voices.

Eventually it took another firework from Dumbledore (this one hitting a this time completely innocent but equally unmourned Hufflepuff) to quieten everyone down enough that Dumbledore could speak.

“Students,” he began, his eyes twinkling mysteriously, “I am very disappointed with you all. You behaviour of late has been disgraceful.

“My colleges and I had hoped that you might sort matters out among yourselves but you didn’t and we couldn’t allow things to continue unchecked any longer. Several students have received serious injuries from the granary rolls and poor Professor Quirrell’s stutter is worse than ever.” (No one knew how Quirrell had survived his possession by Voldemort, or why he had been rehired after he had proved himself to be both evil and incompetent, but no one had thought to actually _ask_ either, so we will probably never know).

“It came to my attention that the current trouble began with a cruel and unfounded lie about poor Miss Midgeon.” Dumbledore’s teeth sparkled charismatically as he spoke. “The poor girl’s acne is clearing up marvellously and court delivered a verdict of Not Proven.

“To teach you all not to lie, and to clear the air of this unpleasantness, I have placed you all, in fact all inhabitants of the castle, under a spell which will prevent us from lying.” He wiggled his ears arcanely. “The spell will last for exactly one week. I hope by then you will have learned your lesson.”

He returned sedately to his seat as the riot started once again, larger, louder and considerably more violent than before.

He smiled cheerfully at Professor McGonagall who sat beside him. “I think that went well, don’t you Minnie?” he said happily. “Can I help you to some of these new-fangled Chipped Potatoes? They’re really rather good.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

One inhabitant of Hogwarts castle unaware of both the pandemonium above and the spell which he was now under was Lucius Malfoy. He had sneakily infiltrated the school five days ago (disguised as three house elves carrying a tray of pastries) on the orders of Lord Voldemort TM, and was currently hiding out in the cellars trying to discover the weak points in the castles defences. Unfortunately the cellar he’d chosen was a wine cellar and he’d got a little side tracked.

Normally his lack of results would have bothered the Dark Lord but right now he was too distracted with his new hobby to pay much attention to the lack of reports from his agent in the field.

Lucius was pleased by this. After all he’d entered this mission determined to do well. He’d even bought all the equipment Castrati Keith the Muggle-lover had recommend he buy. He’d got a beige mackintosh and a brown fedora. He’d bought glasses with false moustaches and eyebrows attached to them (which he though were really rather ingenious) and he’d spent two days carefully cutting eye holes out of old Daily Prophets. Of course he’s had to start subscribing to the newspaper first so he could cut holes out of it, but that just showed his levels of devotion to the mission. His normal reading was Witch Weekly, but it was too small to effectively disguise his identity. Also he kept all his old issues in special binders with spells to keep them in mint condition. You never knew when a retro style would come in and it really paid then to have those original tips.

So after all that effort it was hardly his fault if the ingenious enemy placed a cunning and unavoidable trap in his path. An entire rack of 1896 elf grown chardonnay from Alsace? How could he resist?

He was pretty sure they had drugged the wine though. He seemed to be finding it increasingly difficult to think coherently. His fine motor control was going too. Then again it might be the food that was poisoned. He hadn’t thought to bring any food with him as in his world food simply appeared on the table, hot and ready to eat. He had been a little concerned, after he’d broken in, that this might not continue to happen once he was undercover, but he was pleased to see that things continued as normal. Three meals a day, plus elevenses, tea and supper arrived promptly and were always delicious.

His witch weekly had arrived this morning as well which pleased him immensely. He loved the society gossip (especially when it was about him) but most of all he love the fashion pages. Not that that meant he wasn’t manly. He liked them in a manly way. And he wasn’t interested in what the new witches fashions would look like on him at all. Just like he wasn’t interest in how the male models looked. At least that’s what he usually thought. It was what he’d thought all his life. But today for some reason he found himself questioning these things which he had known to be true for years.

Unnerved by his sudden lack of confidence in his masculinity, he tried to think of something manly to think about. Narcissa. Cor, eh? Narcissa with her skin that wasn’t tanned enough, and her hair that wasn’t dark enough, and her arms that weren’t muscular enough and her chest which was too squishy and her too-wide hips...

We shall leave Lucius here, rolling on the floor of the Hogwarts wine cellar, having a panic attack while everything he thought he knew about his sexuality crumbles before his very eyes. Because the spell Dumbledore cast doesn’t just prevent people from lying to one another. Have you guessed what else it does? That right. It also cures scrofula and mange. Oh and it stops people lying to themselves. This should be an eventful week.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Harry Potter was sitting right at the very centre of the Gryffindor table. Well not right at the centre obviously, that would mean moving the courgettes, but as close to the centre as he could get while still sitting on a designated seat. Normally this was a good place to sit. It commanded an excellent view of the hall, meant he could sit between Ron and Hermione and keep them separated and have a good command on the flow of gossip. It was also good because Ginny always sat in the seat opposite. At least he thought that was good.

Right now though, his central position meant that he was being assailed from all sides by flying food and curses and he couldn’t hear himself think over his fellow students’ screams. Honestly, he thought to himself, they don’t even know what the spell does. It might be harmless.

A thought occurred to him and he turned to Hermione. After some struggle he managed to detach her from an overexcited third year who’d got his teeth into her hat and refused to let go. He was forced to sacrifice the hat but at last he extracted her.

“HERMIONE,” her yelled above the commotion, “WHAT SPELL DID DUMBLEDORE CAST?”

“WHAT?” she yelled in return.

”WHAT SPELL DID DUMBLEDORE CAST?” he yelled again, even louder.

“VERITAS!” she yelled in reply. “IT’S A TRUTH SPELL.”

“A WHAT?”

“A... oh for heaven’s sake!”

Hermione raised her wand in the air, firing a small yellow rocket from the end of her wand. It circled lazily before eventually impacting on the ceiling just above the teachers table. The largest chunk of masonry so far detached itself, fell whistling towards the earth, and landed on Professor Quirrell who had been explaining to Professor Sprout that the best cure for an unhappy marriage was a drink made of honey and talcum powder, taken three times a day. He had not explained who was meant to take it. So it’s not surprising that when the stone hit him, Sprout was quite pleased and went back to eating her Jarvey burger in peace without even commenting on her college’s untimely death. Though she did pick some bits of him off her burger.

Taking advantage of the lull Hermione climbed onto the table and shouted at the top of her not inconsiderable lungs “ **IT WAS JUST A SIMPLE TRUTH SPELL. IT WILL WEAR OF IN A WEEK. THERE SHOULD BE NO ILL EFECTS. AND YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YORSELVES.** ”

She was pleased with the deathly silence that followed, and even more pleased when every piece of glass in the place smashed simultaneously. Apparently all those diaphragm exercises Mrs Weasley had given her had paid off.

She gave a modest little bow and sat down, leaving her peers shell shocked and covered in broken glass. She turned to Harry who was shaking his head to stop his ears from ringing. “Did that answer your question?” she asked cheerfully.

He nodded slowly. “So this means we can’t tell any lies for a week then?”

She smiled at him. “Oh Harry how right you are. Think of it as an anti-lie force-field covering the school and grounds. Anyone who steps within it will be unable to do anything deceitful, unable to outright lie, even in jest and unable to delude themselves. It’s the most powerful truth spell known to wizardkind, cast by the most powerful Wizard of our age.”

“Wow,” said Ginny. “That’s impressive. It works too!”

“How do you know?” Harry asked, hoping his beloved, at least he thought she was, wasn’t suffering any ill effects from the spell.

“Oh it’s easy,” Ginny replied cheerfully. “I’ve just realised that I’ve been lying to myself for years.” She focussed all her attention on Harry, her expression earnest. “I’ve just realised I don’t love you Harry. I can’t be with you. There’s someone else!”

The entire of Gryffindor house was now intent on their conversation and began shouting suggestions. “It’s Neville isn’t it?” “Don’t be stupid it’s clearly Looney Lovegood.” “Chang Chang Chang!” “It’s a Malfoy, definitely a Malfoy!”

Harry looked round at his housemates in confusion. “Where are these suggestions coming from?” he asked. “None of them make any sense!”

“Well you see Harry,” Hermione explained, “the authors don’t really read Ginny centric fics and those were the only non-Harry/Ginny Ginny ships they’d come across. They haven’t got the time to research any that might make sense, they lead busy lives.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. “So Ginny, what’s the real answer? Who is it you’re leaving me for?” For some reason he wasn’t very upset. He put it down to hormones. Or something.

“It’s someone better looking, cleverer, better dressed, more charming, more witty and better in bed than you’ll ever be,” she told him seriously.

“Aha!” Harry exclaimed. “So it is Malfoy!” And then he blushed when everyone turned to look at him. Fortunately before he could begin to question his sexuality or anything plotty like that Ginny spoke again, distracting Harry, the Gryffindors, the readers and the authors.

“No Harry,” she said as kindly as she could manage. “It’s me. I’m the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and I’m leaving you so I can begin spending time with the most important person in the world to me. Myself.”

There was a long silence and then a small voice towards the far end of the table said “you know what, that actually makes sense. A lot more sense than Ginny/Lucius anyway.”

Harry was so shocked he fainted into his porridge (which yes he _**was**_ eating for lunch with fried courgettes and chips. A deprived childhood will do that to you).

This prompted a mass stampede as all the students who had been pretending to be indifferent or even hostile to Harry to provide plot points for JK, suddenly realised that they couldn’t lie to themselves anymore and were forced to admit that they were fanboys/girls just like everyone else, rushed to his aide.

Professor Trelawny (who had been drinking her own homemade scrumpy again to aid in the lubrication of her inner eye) had been standing in the middle of the great hall dressed in robes made of badger skins and dancing the Macarena and was therefore caught in the stampede and tragically trampled to death.

Up at the top table the Headmaster turned to his companion. “All in all a great success I feel Minnie,” he exclaimed. “We’re down two members of staff but one was evil and one was incompetent and drunk so it’s no great loss. I’m not sure I’m very good at this hiring lark. Still, maybe I shall do a better job with their replacements.”


	2. I swear they come out of the woodwork!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this actually the most ridiculous pairings, so at least you can relax after you've read this one. (Sapphy)
> 
> I wouldn't be to sure of that. . . (Katt)

Against all expectation and tradition, things at Hogwarts were quiet. The students were being well-behaved, and even polite, to both their teachers and peers. After a small blonde Hufflepuff with plaits (another one? where do they come from?) had declared her undying love to Argus Filch when he tried to give her a detention for throwing stink bombs at Mrs Norris, everyone was wary of what dark secrets a passionate encounter might bring to light. Like just how many students secretly wish Filch **_was_** still allowed to flog misbehaving students. (27). As a result of this all-consuming fear, things on the day after Dumbledore’s shocking loss of temper were the quietest and most boring anyone could remember. It seemed to everyone that the only place where something might happen to relieve the monotony was where it all started the day previously. The Great Hall.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Lucius Malfoy stuck his head out of the wine cellar door, peering along the corridor. When he was at last satisfied that the coast was clear, he edged out of the doorway, pressing himself against the wall and turning up the collar of his beige mackintosh to disguise his face. He would conversely have been quite flattered to learn that even this sneakiest of disguises did little to disguise his tall, slim frame topped as it was by waist-length hair so blonde it was almost silver. It didn’t help his disguise that he still carried his serpent topped cane. Even a mac and fedora needed accessorising after all.

He slipped along the corridors, doing his best to be unobtrusive. He passed a few students along his way who, given that there is almost nothing more noticeable than someone trying not to be noticed, did see him, but were so worried about keeping a low profile themselves that they didn’t comment on the appearance in their illustrious school of a famous death eater dressed as a muggle detective and still weaving slightly from the after-effects of all that Chardonnay.

He had decided to risk the danger of being exposed and tortured for information by Dumbledore (he’d never actually seen anyone tortured as he had a delicate stomach, but in his nightmares it involved being forced to wear yellow, which completely washed him out) in the hope of sneaking into the Slytherin dorms and stealing some of Draco’s custom made shampoo. The elves where doing their best but they really didn’t understand about quality. One had even had the audacity to bring a bottle of Dr Vaughn’s grease control which had been discarded by Snape as being too unpleasant. He had tried going without and relying on cleaning charms, but his self-confidence had taken a knock when he had realised the day before that he was as queer as a diesel-engined lobster and he needed the confidence boost of proper shampoo. So after long debate he had decided his only option was to attempt a little ‘sortie’ out to the Slytherin territory.

It took him fifteen minutes and seven wrong turns to reach the wall that he remembered as marking the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Eventually he’d asked a passing house-elf who been only too anxious to help “Master Lucius who is a spy for the evil Lord Voldemort”. It didn’t occur to him to wonder how someone else’s house-elf knew not only his name but his mission. In his world, everyone knew who he was.

He was brought to an abrupt halt however when he came in sight of the hidden doorway he had been seeking. There, filling the corridor, were a large group of Hufflepuffs. Every single one of them had freckles, blond hair and dimples, and most had curls. Not one of them was over four foot high, not even the seventh years. They looked like particularly saccharine Hobbits.

They carried banners and placards, which when he got closer, he realised all bore the faces of either Crabbe or Goyle surrounded by hearts, flowers and declarations of undying love. One even declared the bearers desire to kiss Goyle, which to a Hufflepuff was practically soft-core porn.

Lucius debated for long moments but at last he decided that acquiring a decent make of shampoo was worth risking the ire of a dozen hobbits in school uniform for.

He strode out into the corridor, dramatically threw of his disguise, and struck a pose. No one noticed him. He cleared his throat. Still no one noticed him. Finally, despairing of the intelligence of Hobbits these days he flounced forward, his dress robes swirling dramatically behind him. Mentally he thanked Severus for all those robe-swirling lessons after Dark revels. “Make way plebeians,” he cried, “for it is I!”

As one the Hufflepuffs turned, their cheerfully dimpled faces taking on an air of terrible hatred. Lucius gulped.

“Quick,” one Hufflepuff cried, drawing her wand, “he’s here to hurt our darlings. GET HIM!”

With a roar that would have frightened a lion the students attacked, flinging curses and lashing out with their placards.

Giving his own battle cry of “For Armani!” Lucius responded, shooting curses left and right, hitting students indiscriminately.

For a few moments it looked as if he might prevail, but the cries of pain from the younger Hufflepuffs had drawn the attention of their housemates, who descended now like vengeance from hell, determined to give anyone who hurt their friends a damn god talking too. Possibly even make them listen to a speech about the importance of friendship.

"Stupid Hufflepuffs, I swear they must come out of the woodwork..." Lucius muttered as another little Puffie went poof. Lucius glared up at the ceiling.

"Stop it!" he shouted at the offending oak panels, only to get assaulted by ten more before finally conceding defeat.

"ALRIGHT! You win!" he cried before sneaking back to his cellar room, muttering the whole way about stupid authors and the need to fill every chapter with surprisingly aggressive Hufflepuffs.

 

**********

 

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, sucking a sherbet lemon and humming tunelessly. This was not making things any easier for the person currently sitting in front of the desk. He was the 8th person to be interviewed for the position of Divination teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and so far the first man.

It must be said that things were hard enough for him even without Dumbledore’s annoying habits putting him off. He was completely unqualified for the job, emotionally unsuited to teaching, had spent extensive time in a high security penitentiary, wasn’t hugely keen on children, didn’t believe in divination and prophesy and had no previous teaching experience. He also wasn’t actually very interested in the job, but given that pretty much all his friends and acquaintances either attended or taught at Hogwarts he’d decided that the job might be good for his social life. Another thing which made him wholly unsuited to the job.

It might surprise you then to discover that he was actually the headmaster’s favoured candidate. This had something to do with their history but mainly it was an indication of the direness of the other applicants.

There had been Gwyneth Powell, who point blank refused to believe that men were capable of prophesy and saw teaching divination as a way of educating girls in their rights and responsibilities as daughters of the feminine divine. There had been Willow Rainbow who insisted that the only path to true sight involved following one’s animal spirit guide. Hers was a rabbit called Petal. Dumbledore had no objection to non-existent spirit guides, but even he could see that exposing the children to someone who believed in mythical rabbits called Petal was wrong. There’d been Raven Darkness, who was mainly interested in using her inner eye to contact the dead. Then there’d been a muggle-born called Gillian who kept talking about Greenham common, wherever that was, and how if wizarding kind just banded together they could have nuclear energy completely banned within the week.

All in all a most unsatisfactory bunch. So right now the unqualified, unshaven, thoroughly unsuitable man before his was definitely the best bet.

He held up a hand to stem the man’s talk. “It’s alright, I’ve made my decision. Welcome to the staff Sirius.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Harry took his usual spot at lunch-time, relieved that for once he could enjoy his lunch in peace, not having to worry about keeping the peace between the various factions that made up the Gryffindor student body. Needless to say he was completely wrong. He really should know better, given that he’s in a crack fic. He was munching on Brussell sprouts and wishing Hermione hadn’t practiced her charms homework on his sandwich, which was now fluttering round his head, mocking him with its out-of-reach cheesy deliciousness, when the doors of the Great Hall slammed open to reveal something which made him nearly choke on an especially large sprout, sending hoards of previously in the closet fangirls stampeding to his rescue.

There in the doorway, striking an unnecessarily dramatic pose, stood the one person no one (except for a very small minority of frankly rather odd fanfic writers) had expected to look good in top to toe leather of a style that even the Village People would consider indecently camp. Black leather encased long legs, fitting snugly in ‘all the right places’ while a leather vest hung open, revealing the glint of a gold nipple ring. Calf-length boots made of black dragon-hide cradled his feet and the whole ensemble was topped off by black leather fingerless gloves. The eyes of every occupant of the Great Hall raked up the (surprisingly) lean body to see brown hair, artfully mussed into a thoroughly debauched style and large soft eyes outlined with black kohl. The leather-clad figure smirked wickedly at the sea of shocked stares before him and then everyone began yelling all at once.

“Sweet Merlin’s black lace knickers!”

“I can’t believe it!”

“Who would’ve thought?!”

“What do you mean? It’s always the quiet ones!”

“Yes, but HIM!? I didn’t see this coming, even if it kind of does fit with the canon…”

Harry rose to his feet, finally recovered from his choking fit and raised a shaking finger to point at the figure in the doorway, like a banshee foretelling doom. “Neville?!” he yelled, and then collapsed face first into his porridge. Which quite frankly teaches him right for not learning his lesson the day before and continuing to eat it at lunch time.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Dumbledore was happily preoccupied with trying to prize apart two lemon drops that had become gummed together in the heat of his pocket when the commotion started. He looked up, observed the figure framed dramatically in the doorway and smiled indulgently. Then he turned to McGonagall, seated on his left and grinned at her in a most unheadmasterly way.

“Reminds one of the first time we went clubbing together, eh Minnie? I still have those thigh-length boots with the ankle-breaker heels you know. Quite the lady-killer you looked in them. Who would have believed we’d be the same size?”

He went back to his sweets, humming Superfreak under his breath, apparently unaware that his offhand comment had put every teacher (except Hagrid who never was quick of the uptake) off their lunch, while McGonagall was seriously considering braining him with her soup spoon.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Lord Voldemort, TM, was miffed. In fact he was more than miffed. He was despondent. He might even go so far as to suggest that he was depressed. One of his Loyal Followers TM, had suggested that he might be moping, but that unwise individual was now helping Castrati Keith the Muggle lover to scrub the torture chamber free of blood using a tooth-brush.

His loyalist and most devoted of Loyal Followers TM (so loyal in fact that he secretly found them a little creepy, but he didn’t say anything for fear of hurting their feelings) were trying to comfort him. Wormtail had offered to cut of his other hand, a suggestion which he had seriously considered before rejecting, and Bellatrix had prostrated herself naked at his feet and offer to perform any sexual favour he liked, which he hadn’t even needed to think about before turning down. In fact the very idea had made him throw up a little in his mouth.

Even McNair dressing up in his oldest robes doing unflattering impressions of Dumbledore hitting on underage boys hadn’t cheered him up. In short he was terribly unhappy.

The cause of this unhappiness was the failure of yet another of his attempted to breed himself a hideous monster sidekick.

He had been reading a book on recent advanced in muggle warfare when it struck him. Germ warfare. The one thing wizards weren’t expecting (well that and a zombie Michael Jackson but that was too complicated). He had come up with what he thought was his best idea so far. The Mog. Half malaria carrying mosquito, half poison dart frog. They were small enough to attack people unnoticed, they were absolutely deadly and they were pretty colours.

Unfortunately what he’d actually produced was far from ideal. It mostly resembled a very ugly frog, but with two tiny wings, too small to actually lift it more than a centimetre off the ground. It proved incapable of perceiving glass and several flattened themselves on the windows before he managed to catch them. Some cooked themselves by flying into the fire and some drowned themselves by mistakenly believing that, as they were part frog, they would therefore be aquatic. The last few remaining ones he had humanely put down using a sharpened flobber worm and a mallet due to the incredibly load buzzing they made, which coupled with their incessant croaking, gave him a headache.

One again, it was back to the drawing board. Bellatrix had suggested he carve his ideas into her naked back with a rusty spoon, but he’d declined on the basis that she’d looked disturbingly excited when she suggested it. The worst thing about being a Dark Lord TM, he thought to himself morosely, was that you became a sort of magnet for complete nutters. Maybe he’d go and visit Castrati Keith. He had an irritatingly high voice since his punishment, but at least he didn’t keep offering him sexual favours. Not since he’d rendered him incapable anyway.

 

************

 

Neville smirked at the prone form of the saviour of the wizarding world face down in a bowl of inappropriate porridge, his fans too shocked even to rescue him, and then turned to look down the length of the hall. His eyes alighted on a certain handsome Slytherin, who was trying to keep a straight face despite the warring emotions with him. On the one hand he was embarrassed enough to move to Australia and herd hippogryphs, on the other hand he thought he might combust from the sheer force of unsatisfied lust.

Our bold hero (ours you understand, not the worlds bold hero, who at that moment was still unconscious and in serious danger of drowning in milk and oats) stalked across the floor in such a good imitation of Snape’s walk that even that usually stone faced teacher’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. He stopped in front of the Slytherin seats of honour – directly opposite Harry, Ron and Hermione – which were occupied by Theo, Draco and Blaise. As he approached, his eyes fixed on one of them, Draco and Theo slid lower in their seats, desperately hoping he wouldn’t notice them, because after all, who wanted to irk a Gryffindor in head to toe leather? A surprisingly muscular arm shot out and tugged Blaise out of his seat by his shirt collar. Blaise gave a him a look of shocked surprise and then quickly lowered his eyes.

Frankly everyone was still so shell-shocked by Neville’s appearance that what happened next came a shock to no one except Harry, who happened to look up from the porridge just in time to see this new (borderline unbelievable) revelation.

Neville leaned forward and whispered something softly directly into Blaise’s ear, making him shiver. Neville dropped Blaise and took a step back, looking at him expectantly. Blaise immediately dropped to his knees, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. Neville grinned, reaching down to trace Blaise’s throat, revealing the collar which had been hidden beneath a glamour as he did so. Then he gave it a little tug and strode out of the room (again making people suspect everything from Pollyjuice to possession, so un-Neville like did he appear), Blaise following him, crawling on all fours.

Silence reigned in the Great Hall for long moments after the doors slammed shut behind the day’s ‘entertainment’. Harry turned to Hermione, wiping porridge off his glasses first so he could actually see her, a triumphant grin on his face.

“See,” he cried, “I told you all those chains under Neville’s bed, and his late-night trips to the room of Requirement, didn’t prove he was a secret were-wolf!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually we're not sorry really

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, we're sorry


End file.
